


The 19.13 Towards Walthamstow Central

by lazorjam



Series: One Shots [5]
Category: James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Actor!Q, Agent!bond, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chance Meetings, Fluff, London, M/M, One Shot, Q is far too forgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 16:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11971581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazorjam/pseuds/lazorjam
Summary: Q moves to London and falls in love with a stranger on the tube.





	The 19.13 Towards Walthamstow Central

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who went to London and got inspiration for a thing

Q sat down on the tube for the first time, his backpack hugged to his chest and fingers fiddling about inside of it, looking for his book. He had decided upon _Julius_ _Caesar_ , one of his favourite Shakespeare plays, as his tube distraction, hoping that a good book would stop him from panicking about how tightly confined he was, or the fact he could get trapped underground for hours. He had never been the biggest fans of trains, hating how rattly they were and how massive the gap between the train and the platform was. So putting them underneath London with no quick route of escape was hardly his dream; but he had to get from Pimlico to Islington somehow. And the buses? Well, they were just ten times worse; far too slow and far too loud. At least most people had the courtesy to be silent on the tube.

He blinked back his grey thoughts and then looked around him, eyeing up where the exits were in case he had to dart out of the carriage at some point, and then the people surrounding him. There was a young family sat just inside the double doors with Hamleys and M&M’s World bags, a young couple sat kissing and cuddling beside them and directly opposite him a man in a dark suit with icy blue eyes and a small frown on his thin lips. The stranger made Q feel slightly on edge, their eyes connecting for a few seconds before Q shuffled about uncomfortably and then looked down at his book, trying to hide himself behind his backpack and away from the cold eyes of the man in front of him. Q was incredibly glad when he got off at Islington and hurried back to his flat, happy to be in the comfort of his own home for another evening.

The following week, when Q got onto the tube with a frown on his face and a copy of the Evening Standard tucked under his arm, the same steel eyed stranger was sat opposite him. He made Q jump at first but he soon settled down when the stranger gave him a small smile, Q feeling his cheeks heat up at the way the man looked at him. The man opposite him was beginning to distract him from his book, the young man finding himself distracted by the way he was muttering to himself and fiddling with a wire trailing along the curve of his thin ear. Q raised an eyebrow at the sight, trying his best to ignore what he was saying and instead on what Brutus was doing. He was almost glad when he got off the tube, but felt incredibly intrigued by the stranger and his little earpiece.

The following Wednesday, Q got onto the tube with his obnoxiously large bouquet of flowers from Eve and his beanie pulled over his mess of fluffy hair. He sat down and then smiled to himself when he realised the silver fox was sat opposite him once again. He gave Q a smirk and a nod before looking back to the pieces of paper on his lap, Q then getting his new book from his bag, having decided on The Crucible, the book Eve had bought him for his birthday. He looked down to his “30 today” badge with a smile and then back to his book, his excitement for his birthday night out already bubbling in his stomach. He looked up when he could feel someone looking at him, noticing the stranger looking him up and down.

“Happy birthday.” He said and Q could feel his cheeks heating up at his mere words. He whispered a small thank you in return and then looked back to his book, not really focusing on the words and instead over analyzing everything about the handsome stranger, swallowing roughly and grining furiously when his mind wandered to somewhat inappropriate thoughts about his long fingers and large hands. He shifted the flowers and his bag so they covered his crotch slightly better and then wished away the rest of the twenty minute journey back home.

The fourth Wednesday brought with it a surprise. The same, handsome man was now sat in the seat next to where Q normally sat, rather than his usual seat opposite which remained empty. Hesitantly, Q sat down beside the older man and gave him a smile, then going to get his book from his backpack when he was presented with a piece of paper from the man beside him. He looked at it confusedly and then shook his head with an eye roll and a smirk, blushing crimson.

_**I’m beginning to think this is a lot more than a nice coincidence. I’m James.** _

The scrawny handwriting read and Q got his own pen and notebook from his backpack, writing out a reply.

_I’m glad I’m not the only one. You can call me Q._

He wrote and then presented it to the man, James, who then began to write on his piece of paper.

_**Are you busy tonight, Q?** _

Wrote James, making the younger man’s cheeks warm once again, attracting a smirk from the man beside him who had been taking a few moments to admire the soft curves of his face. No.

_I’m not. And before you ask, a drink would be delightful._

Q wrote out in his neatest script, James almost laughing to himself as he began to write down his reply. Q felt nothing short of elated that the man he had been ogling for the last month felt just the same way. He had never gotten a date in this way before but he was excited by it nonetheless.

As of yet, James hadn’t given him any indication that he was either a creep or an obsessed stalker fan who just happened to know who Q was from his dribs and drabs of theatre work. He just seemed like a normal man who worked for some important corporation and was required to wear an earpiece and chest microphone at all times. (That Q had noticed the week before when James’ top buttons had been undone and his tie loosened. He had had one similar to it when he had performed at the Globe.) He was hardly going to pry because after all, it was none of his business.

_**I was actually going to suggest dinner, but a drink sounds delightful. I know a nice bar in Islington we could visit; text me and I’ll send you the address.** _

Below was James’s number and Q almost let out a little cheer of excitement at the acquisition of his mobile number but managed to remain calm and composed, at least he thought he had. He got his phone from his bag and tapped the number into his contacts, then sending a text to the new number. He gave James a small smile and slid his notebook and pen back away as the other man got his phone from his jacket pocket and sent the address over to the younger man. Q did a quick Google search and found the bar, reading the consistent five star reviews and then flicking back to his messages.

_Yeah, that’ll do just perfectly. See you at 9.30? Q_

He sent to James who replied with a smiley face and then turned his attention back to whoever it was that was talking to him through his earpiece. Q slipped his phone away and then got his book back out, once again immersing himself in the tale.

He got off at his usual stop and James offered him a nod to say goodbye. He was in high spirits as he skipped through the busy Islington high street and then to his flat, greeting his cats with an enthusiastic pet and then made his way to the bedroom so he could put on something far more appropriate than his t-shirt and ripped jean ensemble. He decided on a navy and white floral shirt and black trousers, his cats meowing at him when he reappeared in the kitchen. He took that as a sign they liked what he was wearing.

Q did feel a little hesitant when he left his flat just before nine, but he knew he had Eve on speed dial just in case; plus they would be around enough people that if he needed to shout something and make an escape, he would be able to. He gained a lot more confidence on the walk to the bar, his head held high and a small smile on his face as he walked, enjoying the feeling of the warm winter sun beating down on his face and bare arms. Q arrived at the bar just after half nine and went inside, looking around to see if he could see James. He couldn’t, so gave the waiter a smile and then sat down behind the bar, ordering himself a glass of white wine and then waiting patiently, keeping his phone on the countertop just in case his date messaged him.

When the clock struck eleven and Q had just finished his fourth glass of wine, he gave up hope of James appearing. He paid for his tab and then started the slow walk home, kicking the ground like an angry toddler. He knew it was all far too good to be true. He got home, had a bath, sent James a few angry text messages and then went to bed, his head already beginning to ache. Migraine; brilliant.

The following week, he got on the tube to find James’ seat occupied by a young woman with a baby perched on her lap. He sat down in his usual place and tried to think nothing of it, instead getting his book (this time a copy of Hamlet) out of his bag and read until he arrived at his stop. He walked home, backpack slung over his shoulder and a concerned frown on his face. He approached his front door, key in hand, only to find the door open by a crack. He paused, colour draining from his face, and then pushed it open slowly. He suddenly felt like he was in the middle of a terrible horror film and would be knifed through the back in mere seconds. He looked over his shoulder and then headed inside, looking around and jumping when Turing meowed at him. He reached down and scooped him up, petting his soft black fur and then looking around the rest of his flat.

When he got to the living room he paused, the door open by just a crack. He had been prepared and picked up a knife from the kitchen where he had placed Turing to keep him safe. He pushed the lounge door open and almost dropped the knife when he saw James sat on his sofa stroking Lovelace who was happily purring and nuzzling her face against the silver haired man. James looked over to the doorway and gave an awkward wave, Q still stunned into silence. James gently placed the cat down on the floor and stood, approaching Q and taking the knife from his stiff hand, putting it on the sideboard and then taking a step back.

“I wanted to apologise.” He said and Q could feel himself beginning to shake with a combination of fear and anger. He shook his head and scooped up Lovelace when she wandered near. Q pet his cat furiously, trying to calm himself down and pretend that James wasn’t there, that it was all a stupid dream but, when he looked back up, James was still looking at him. “For disappearing.” He continued and Q shook his head, looking around the dark room and trying to not focus his thoughts on the man before him.

“Please get out. Please leave. Please.” Q mumbled as he then turned to look at James. “I don’t want you here. Christ, you broke into my house! Get out!” He exclaimed and James held up his hands defensively as Q began to gently push him towards the door. The older man was soon opening the front door, light gushing into his dark flat and illuminating James’ face properly. Q noticed the long cut that stretched from the tip of his left ear to the corner of his mouth, still red and sore looking. There was a split down the center of his lip and another cut peeking out from the collar of his shirt. James stayed still, allowing Q to survey him before giving him a nod to say goodbye and shutting the door behind him.

Q took a few moments to think before he swore to himself and chased after Bond, eventually catching up with him and giving his wrist a gentle tug to get him to turn around. James’ eyes looked even bluer under the yellow light of the streetlights. He let out a shakey breath and then reached up to gently touch the area around the cut with the back of his fingers. James’ eyes shut and he let out a stifled groan of pain, making Q retract his fingers and apologise quietly.

“What happened?” asked Q, putting his thin hands into the pockets of his cardigan. James ran his fingertips over the warmth the backs of Q’s fingers had created. “Did someone hurt you? Is that what happened.” Slowly, James nodded. It wasn’t a lie in the slightest; he was called out as soon as he had gotten off of the tube and got on the first flight to Morocco. He should have texted Q, even thinking about him sat alone in that expensive bar made the agent’s chest feel weird.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about.” James replied before he looked back to Q’s flat, sighing sadly. “I shouldn’t have broken in. I’m sorry.” He added and Q shrugged with a small smirk.

“Don’t worry, it’s kind of hot.” He joked and James rolled his eyes, a small smile on his face as Q then looked back to his flat. “I’ll make you a cup of coffee.” He said and James shook his head, about to argue he had to leave, go somewhere to do something, when Q reached out to gently touch his bicep. “Please?” He sighed and James swallowed roughly.

“You’re too trusting, Q. Your kind nature could get you killed.” The agent pointed out, but this time it was Q’s turn to roll his eyes.

“You have an earpiece and chest microphone on at all times,” Q pointed out as James looked down to the little microphone just below his collar. “You get on at Vauxhall, and I know that because you definitely aren’t the Brixton type, so I think I can trust you, Mr SIS.” He said with a proud smirk and James rose an eyebrow in surprise. “See, not just a pretty face.” The younger man said with a grin before tugging James until he followed him back to his flat.

Q knew that it was a silly, pathetic and frankly stupid idea to let the man who had broken into his flat back into his flat, but if his instincts were anything to go by, he would be safe with James around him. He made James a coffee and himself a tea and they sat in his living room, Lovelace sat on Bond’s lap and Turing on Q’s. The younger man couldn’t help but feel like a total prat for being so forgiving of the silver fox, but his stomach was already doing somersaults every time James looked at him, and that was enough to tell him the risk would be worth it.

James stayed the night, and to Q’s surprise, was still there in the morning when he woke up with still flushed cheeks and a slight waddle. It had been a while after all. Whilst the younger was showering, Bond had awoken and had started work on pancakes in the kitchen. He had even taken the time to give the cats a pouch of food, Q almost swooning when he popped his head into the kitchen, having smelt their breakfast. James greeted him with a peck to the cheek and a mug of hot tea which Q happily sipped, watching James cook in total awe. His stomach and heart were fluttering about fondly again and he soon found himself sat at the breakfast bar just so he didn’t collapse in complete adoration.

He was no longer angry at James for fiddling with his locks and had given his revenge by edging James a few too many times the night before, right to the point where James was almost crying. It was quite the sight and Q knew that James never cried. You only had to look at him to know that. He smirked at the thought and ran a hand through his soggy hair to get it out of his eyes before having another sip of hot tea. Perhaps James wasn’t what he had been expecting him to be; he was certainly already smashing his expectations.

On the sixth Wednesday, Q got on the 19.13 as he did every evening, and broke into a grin when he spotted James sat in the seat beside Q’s usual spot. They greeted each other with a kiss, and it took a full ninety seconds for the younger man to fall asleep on the agent’s shoulder. Each Wednesday stayed the same after that, Q falling asleep on James’s shoulder and simply basking in the agent’s warmth and security. 

He didn’t bother bringing a book with him anymore.


End file.
